Serve God, Love Me, And Mend
by LadyNobleSong
Summary: How Haymitch and Effie came to realize that the only way for them to heal their wounds was to have one another. Because, sometimes, love can be found in the most unexpected places. Set during and after Mockingjay. Multi-chaptered, rated M only for violence, for now at least.
1. Chapter 1 : Stay Alive

**A/N: **This is just a short story I needed to get out of my head, before starting to publish my more important Hayffie project. [I'm still working on it, but it should be uploaded soon, I promise.] I hope you'll like it nonetheless! It should be around 3 to 5 chapters long in total, methinks.

Feel free to leave a review, it'd be fantastic!

* * *

Serve God, Love Me, And Mend.

**Chapter I.**

"Haymitch, we have to leave, now!"

Haymitch turned to see Beetee, his eyes wide open, reflecting a mix of fear and madness that made his skin crawl, for it reminded him too much of his own. His cheek was cut wide open, and his stomach was drenched with red stains. Haymitch really hoped they belonged to someone else.

"We can't stay any longer, Haymitch! Gale was now the one shouting at him, breathless. Peeta is not going to make it out alive!

Gale was also severely injured, as Haymitch could tell from the way his shoulder was twisted. He was right, of course. They all were. It was time to leave.

-I know that, Gale! I know that damn well!

He suddenly stopped in the middle of his tracks, deciding for a new course of actions.

-Beetee, Gale, take Peeta with you and leave with the others! Plutarch, with me. We'll take the last corridor and join you afterwards."

Plutarch nodded, and they both quickly exited the dark room, running toward the last cells. With ragged voices, they both called for survivors, despite knowing very well the threat it represented. The corridor stood silent. Haymitch called again. The only thing they could hear were the hurried footsteps of more peacekeepers, dangerously heading closer.

"They are right after us, we have to leave, Plutarch said calmly.

It was one of the things Haymitch had always appreciated about the former Gamemaker; no matter how desperate the situation was, he would always remain collected. It was a relief. Suddenly, a faint, muffled sound resonated in the empty corridor. It had not been clear or distinct, but Haymitch was convinced it had been real.

-Wait! Have you heard that?

-There was nothing, Abernathy. These are apparently all empty. Come on, we need to get out of here!

The noise occurred a second time, a little more clearly. Haymitch felt himself shiver. It was not a call for help, it was a horrified shriek. Whatever was happening in this cell probably would haunt his nights forever.

-Shut up, Heavensbee! Can't you hear? There's a fucking person in there!

-The Peacekeepers are closing on us; we have no choice, Haymitch! You know the rules; it's collateral damage.

Haymitch felt something snapping open inside of him, as he seized Plutarch by his collar, his voice low, sounding almost like an animalistic growl.

-Never again. I've been in the Games, P. I've killed enough innocents for a lifetime. There will be no more "collateral damage". Not while I'm around. These shrieks belong to a person, and I'm not fucking getting out without them.

He finally released his grip. Plutarch was looking at him, and for the first time, just for an instant, Haymitch saw fear in his eyes. It disappeared almost instantly, as Plutarch pressed his hands onto Haymitch's shoulder, to calm him done.

-Fine. I get it. I'll stay with you; I get it. Let's go."

Haymitch was grateful for the man's simplicity. He wanted to thank him, but there were other priorities. At this very moment, every second counted. Plutarch tossed an explosive toward the door of the last cell. The door blasted open with a loud bang, before disappearing in a cloud of white smoke.

Using his arm to cover his mouth, Haymitch walked through the cloud, swinging a long knife in front of him, a desperate attempt to protect himself. But when the smoke dissipated, Haymitch froze in his tracks, for the sight in front of him terrified him.

On the floor was a woman, barely alive, looking as pale as a corpse, her limbs covered in different shades of blood. A man was kneeling between her legs, one of his hands roughly crushing her mouth and nose, smothering her. His other hand was holding a dirty blade, which was pressed against her left breast, drawing blood from her.

With a shudder of horror, Haymitch realized the man was about to rape her, for he could see her faints attempts to resist him, to close the space between her legs, and he could hear muffled shrieks of sheer despair escaping her mouth, despite the man's hand covering it.

The woman turned her head a little, and Haymitch felt as if all the air had suddenly left his lungs. Time seemed to freeze around him, and he took a step back, for he had realized that, behind the tears, the blood and the dirt, the torn features he was looking at belonged to Euphemia Trinket.

* * *

Before he could even process what was happening, Haymitch had silently moved towards the torturer, and the long blade of his knife was buried deep within the man's back. However, Haymitch had made sure he wouldn't die just yet. The wound was fatal, but he still had enough time to make the man pay.

Haymitch dragged him by his collar, and shoved him against the wall of the cell. The torturer was groaning pitifully, the pain in his back already driving him to the edge of sanity. Suddenly, Haymitch violently kicked the man's crotch with one knee, making him shout loudly with pain, as he glided slowly towards the floor.

"Take her!

The man had talked in a hoarse voice, pointing at the trembling woman who was curled up in a ball, on the floor of the cell.

-Take that whore back, if that's what you want. She's all yours!

Haymitch looked at him, right into his animalistic eyes, before speaking calmly.

-What did you just call her?

The man only answered with another groan of pain. The next thing he knew, Haymitch's fist had violently collided with his jaw in an awful crack. The guard coughed, spitting blood, while Haymitch stood silent, glancing at him with nothing but pure hatred in his eyes.

-What did you call her, you bastard!

The man attempted to answer, despite the state of his jaw, but managed to emit nothing but a whimper. Haymitch felt his grip onto his knife tighten, as he stepped close to the man again, ready to slice his throat. But he stopped instantly when he heard the worried voice of Plutarch behind him.

- Hay, we've got a problem. The woman, something's wrong with her. She passed out."

Haymitch quickly abandoned his prey, pathetically whimpering on the floor, begging for mercy between spats of blood. Back to the dirt he came from, Haymitch thought cruelly. In one swift motion, he was by Plutarch's side.

Effie was still leaning on the floor, motionless, wearing nothing but a half-torn, dirty dress to hide her swollen body. Haymitch had to close his eyes for a moment, as he acknowledged the multiple scars and bruises, along with dried blood and burn marks, that covered her petite body.

Her face was nowhere better, covered in tears and smeared blood. Her eyes barely visible behind the awful dark bruises surrounding them. Her nose was oddly curved, and her formerly perfect lips were cut open along a long, deep scar which ran from her jaw to her opposite cheek.

Haymitch also noticed with horror that half of her hair had been ripped off her scalp, leaving blank patches of pale skin. Haymitch swallowed hard. His mind was racing, trying to connect the pieces together. He did not understand.

The broken wreck of a woman leaning in front of him was undeniably his former colleague, the unforgettable pink bubble named Effie Trinket. What on earth was she doing here? If there was anyone he had not expected to find here, it was her. Those were the Capitol's jails, for god's sake! She was _from_ the Capitol!

"Who is she?

Haymitch didn't even turn his head toward Plutarch, unable to take his eyes off the molested body belonging to the woman he knew so well.

-Euphemia Trinket. You knew her -know her. He corrected himself; she was not dead yet.

-Oh. I didn't recognize her, Plutarch simply answered.

-But… She was one of them! She was from the Capitol, P! What the hell is she doing there! She's been tortured!

Haymitch hadn't realized he had been shouting his last words. But the display in front of him was too upsetting for him to handle. Never would he have imagined he would ever witness Effie in this state.

-It's our fault, Hay. Look at her chest."

* * *

Slowly, Haymitch did as he had been told. He carefully pushed the fabric aside, and suddenly, he understood. Just above her breasts, on the skin of her lower neck, was the distinct burn mark of a jewel, and, more precisely, a Mockingjay locket. The very same he had given to her as a token for remembrance, just before the Arena collapsed.

Haymitch gulped painfully, a rush of guilt invading his whole body, creeping into his very veins. It was his fault. The bastards had heated her necklace and then forced her to wear it against her bare skin. Then, as if it wasn't enough, someone had carved the word "Traitor" in capital letters, right in her skin, using the round shape of the locket as the "O".

"Oh, Effs. What did they do to you? He muttered to himself, before slowly facing Plutarch, who hadn't moved.

-It was my fault. Entirely and only mine. It was my fucking fault, one more time! And now she's gone and nothing will bring her back to m-

-She is not yet, Haymitch! Plutarch interrupted harshly. But we need to get her out, right now, or we all will be! Now is not the time to dwell on the past."

Haymitch nodded, kneeling closer to her. Without realizing it, he went to caress the scar with the very tip of his fingers. But at the very instant their skin touched, Effie let out a terrible shriek, her whole body arching at once.

She was shaken by irregular spasms, convulsing on the floor, as she desperately attempted to protect herself from an inexistent menace. With one hand, she scratched Haymitch's face. Despite her lack of nails, her strength in despair was increased; Haymitch felt she had drawn blood.

"Leave me -alone!

Effie was half-shouting, half-sobbing, still attempting to hurt her invisible assailant by clawing onto the air.

-Euphemia, it's Plutarch. We're not here to hurt you; you need to calm down. Plutarch was trying to soften her delirium by maintaining her shoulders firmly pressed against the floor.

-Don't- hurt her. Haymitch growled.

-Please, don't! I don't know anything, I swear! Effie was still shrieking.

-Effie, now, stop!

Haymitch had shouted, and it seemed to work for a moment. Effie covered her face with her bloody hands, still mouthing silent pleadings, but her spasms had stopped.

-Effs, my sweet. It's me. It's 'Mitch.

His voice sounded raw; he could barely talk, for he lacked saliva.

-We're not here to hurt you. We're getting you out if here.

Effie's eyes suddenly shot open, and she stood still and silent, not seeming to understand him. Without realizing it, Haymitch gripped her right hand firmly.

-Do you recognize me, Trinks? It's Haymitch. I'm here now, it's over, it's all over.

Plutarch was becoming agitated, and Haymitch realized he had no more time to sing her lullabies. It was their last chance to leave.

-Just stay calm, sweetheart. We're getting out of here alive, you and I."

He was about to lift her, when her gaze suddenly focused, their eyes meeting for the first time.

-Haymitch? But- You're dead! Am I dead? Is this death?

Her voice was thick, distorted, yet she talked quickly, as if she couldn't breathe. She coughed a little, and he felt her fingers closing around his wrist, returning his grip. She looked lost, almost mad. But the very touch of her was enough for Haymitch; he knew all hope was not lost yet.

-What are you doing in hell, Haymitch? I deserved it, but you- you didn't. She was crying again, glistening tears leaving traces on her dirty skin. I have prayed for you, I have! Why didn't it work? Why are you here, with me?"

Suddenly, her eyes rolled into their orbs, and she passed out again, retrieving into her own fantasy, her head falling limply at her side.

His whole body awakened with the fear to lose her again, Haymitch carefully lifted her off the floor before getting up himself. He slowly dropped her onto his shoulder, holding her tightly, one hand wrapped around her waist, and the other under her thighs.

He looked at Plutarch, before simply announcing: "Let's get out of here." Quickly, they ran away, dark corridor after dark corridor, toward the only exit left. Every few steps, Haymitch repeated two words to the lifeless body in his hands, like a desperate mantra. "Stay alive. Stay alive. Stay alive."

He didn't even know why he cared, but at this very moment, and no matter how disastrous his relationship with the former Escort had been in the years they had been forced to work together, there was nothing else in the world he desired more, than for her to stay alive. To have the chance to talk to her one more time, one last time. Tell her things he had never told anyone. Make her smile, laugh again.

Haymitch's thoughts were spiraling into his mind, when he suddenly caught sight of the exit door. At that very instant, Effie flinched in his arms. It was almost imperceptible, but enough to know she wasn't dead yet. The relief he instantly felt, along with the urgency of the situation, sent a rush of energy through his spine. He raced towards the door, Plutarch by his side, muttering a simple sentence against Effie's shoulder.

"We're getting out of here alive, you and I."

* * *

**A/N:** Well, I hope it wasn't too disappointing... It's kind of different from what I wrote before, but I hope you've still enjoyed it. Next chapter should be up during the week!

Thanks for reading,  
Wil~


	2. Chapter 2 : Stay With Me

******A/N: **First of all, thank you all so much! I am really delighted to read that you seem to have liked what I wrote so far. I am also grateful for the reviews some of you actually left me! It's the first time I get so many, so quickly, so I'm really speechless right now. You are all so amazing. I can't believe it's actually happening to me!

As a thanks, I decided I'd thank you by writing chapter II a bit earlier than I thought, so, here it is!  
I do really hope you like it.

Once again, reviews are wonderful.  
Love, Wil.

* * *

**Chapter II.**

"Who is that?"

Gale had almost spat the words at Haymitch, disdainfully nodding towards the woman still curled up against him.

-She's not on the list, Abernathy. Who is she?

Haymitch did not want to answer, for he knew too well the consequences his words would have on her. He was already to blame for her imprisonment; he would not make any other mistake. He only brought her limp body closer to his chest, unwittingly dissimulating her from the numerous staring eyes.

-I asked you a question, Abernathy. Show me her face.

-She's Euphemia Trinket. She was taken prisoner by the Capitol, with all the others.

Plutarch, who had talked with a calm tone, shot an apologetic glance at Haymitch. The latter felt anger rising within him. He knew very well there was no other way, yet he just wanted to shout, to throw something at them. Effie was unconscious, for god's sake; she needed care, not a trial!

-Trinket? Effie Trinket? Oh, you have to be kidding me, Haymitch!, Gale said.

He refused to answer, as he crossed the hovercraft towards the medical team, his eyes focused only on the fragile figure in his arms.

-Effie Trinket, the escort?

-Yes. So what?

Haymitch had growled, his eyes darkened by a repressed fury, slowly invading his veins. He couldn't bring himself to face Gale, knowing too well he wouldn't be able to control himself any longer; for he could feel his knuckles turning white already.

-She's doesn't deserve to be here, Haymitch. She is the enemy. You shouldn't have saved her.

And it was too late.

-How dare you, you bastard! She's been captured, tortured, just like ours! Who the fuck do you think you are, deciding what she _deserves_? She's a person, Gale, just like you! What makes you any better, you ignorant jerk?

Haymitch suddenly felt an arm restraining him, preventing him from attacking the young man at once. He turned his head to see Doctor Aurelius, who was glancing at Effie, a look of fear sprayed onto his face.

-If you want to fight, put her down. Now."

He had muttered through clenched teeth, so that Haymitch only would catch his words. It felt like a bucket of cold water had just been thrown upon him, and he instantly sobered up. Effie was still in his arms, lifeless, and hurt. His grip on her was too tight; what if his anger caused her more pain?

He turned back to face Gale, whose eyes reflected nothing but fright. It was the first time he had witnessed Haymitch in such a state. At this very moment, he could see both the victor and the murderer, reflecting through his icy, grey eyes.

The whole room was silent, paralyzed by the thick tension created by the confrontation. After a moment that seemed to last forever, Beetee spoke.

"She's hurt, Gale. It's our duty to care for her physical injuries, no matter who she is, or used to be.

-She sentenced Katniss to death. Does it not repulse you to care for her now?

-Listen, Gale, continued Plutarch. She has been tortured, probably even raped. Her chances of survival are declining at every minute we waste. Haymitch and I both risked our lives for her, so we are not abandoning her now. Is that understood?

-As it pleases you, sir."

Gale had spat the last word with as much disdain as he could, making it very clear he was forced to act against his will. Nonetheless, he stepped back, and Haymitch felt more grateful towards Plutarch as he ever had. She was safe, finally. Nothing would hurt her now.

He turned towards Aurelius, slowly revealing Effie's state to him. Some eyes widened when they realized how seriously injured she was. However, Gale stood silent, an unreadable expression on his face.

"From what I saw, she's been whipped, cut and burnt. Some of her hair's missing, and I guess she's been hit, too.

Haymitch's voice was shaking a little in his throat, as every word reminded him that all these wounds were due to him. He pointed her chest with a single finger.

-They've been carving words right into her skin. And I think she's been… molested, several times before. He swallowed. From the way she reacted, I believe it wasn't the first time they abused her.

Aurelius stood silent, only nodding from time to time. Haymitch clenched his jaws, as guilt washed over him one more time. How could he have been so naïve, thinking she would be safe? She knew him; he brought danger and death wherever he went.

-Her state is serious, very serious, Aurelius eventually said. She needs intensive care, as soon as we can. I'll do my best for now, and we'll get her to the hospital in priority, as soon as we reach 13.

-Thank you, Haymitch muttered."

He unwillingly stepped aside, as Aurelius' medical team rushed over Effie's body, wiping the blood from it, before covering it with thick sheets. As Haymitch had realized while he hold her, her corporal temperature had dropped. She was slowly dying.

* * *

As soon as the hovercraft landed, as Aurelius had said, Effie was taken away, along with Peeta and Johanna. Haymitch could only wish to stay with her; he still had a duty to accomplish for the rebellion. He owed it to Plutarch, above all people.

However, despite his efforts, he seemed unable to focus on any of his tasks. He could not get the escort off his mind. What if something went wrong? Who would be there to hold her hand through her last breath? He shivered at the macabre thought.

A few hours later, Plutarch came back. Haymitch wanted to thank him, but the former Gamemaker didn't leave him the chance to do so.

"Effie's out of intensive care, Hay. Go check on her.

-I've got to talk to Katniss and the others, P. I can't just-

-Go; I'll handle it. Haymitch, just go."

For the first time since the rebellion had begun, Haymitch felt his lips curving into a faint smile. He nodded, then quickly left for the hospital. He needed to see her, to witness she was still alive. He walked to the room Aurelius had indicated back in the hovercraft, his whole body tensing. However, when he pushed the door open, whatever hope he might have had was mercilessly crushed. The room was empty.

Haymitch reached the central counter of the hospital, violently slamming his hand against the wood.

"Where the hell is she?

A nurse looked up at him, quizzically.

-Who do you mean, sir?

-You know damn well who I mean! Euphemia, Effie. Trinket. The Escort. Where is she?

-Oh, the woman answered in a guilty tone. Well… She's been taken away.

-She's been what? Haymitch had lowered himself so that he could stare directly into the nurse's eyes. His voice was low, threatening.

-Under my demand.

Haymitch turned his head to see who had just talked. His gaze met the icy, cruel eyes of Alma Coin, who was holding a clipboard tight in her arms.

-Why on Panem did you do that for?

-Gale told me you had brought back a traitor amongst us. I couldn't believe it at first, but it turned out to be true. What were you thinking, soldier Abernathy?

-What did you do to her, you heartless b-

He stopped himself just on time, not wanting to bring any trouble upon Effie or Plutarch. Messing with Coin was known to be a terrible idea.

-I? Oh, nothing. I wouldn't dirty my hands on her.

Haymitch winced, but stood silent, waiting.

-But, since you seem to care so much, she's been treated, and taken back where she belongs. To the Capitol.

- But they _tortured_ her, damn it! They are going to kill her, Alma! How can you let that happen?

-She's not one of ours, Haymitch. It's time for you to learn that as well."

On those words, Coin turned on her heels and walked away quickly, leaving Haymitch in a state of shock and furor he had never experienced before.

How was he supposed to let that happen? After he had worked with that woman for almost twenty years, after she had cared for him more than anyone else, after he had risked his life to rescue her? How could they treat her as nothing more than capitol scum?

Suddenly, he felt a hand poking at his shoulder, and turned to face Johanna, clothed in a white hospital robe. She looked dreadful, like she had been to hell and back; and Haymitch knew why: Just like Effie, she had been tortured for months, almost driven to the edge of sanity. She was like a ghost, overly skeletal and pale, but the most frightening were her lifeless eyes.

"I've got her. Follow me."

It was all she said, before walking away to her room, limping a little. Haymitch instantly followed her, not allowing himself to hope for anything before he witnessed it with his own eyes. As Johanna painfully pushed the door open, Haymitch felt like he took a breath again for the very first time. Effie was laid on Johanna's bed, her figure thin and pale as a corpse, but she was still alive. It was all that mattered.

"Don't ask how and I won't ask why, Johanna simply said.

Haymitch's brow furrowed, but he said nothing. He appreciated Johanna's lack of criticism more than anything. Because when he himself thought about it, he couldn't really say why he suddenly cared so much about the woman in the bed. It was not just pity, no. There was something older, something about her, about him, which he had never quite understood. It felt like it had always been there, binding the two of them together.

-Why? Haymitch merely asked, wondering why someone as strong and brave as Johanna would even bother saving someone like Euphemia Trinket.

-I've known her, Haymitch. In jail. We were cell mates for a while, before they began -using her, for physical needs.

Haymitch stood silent, his eyes wide open.

-They have always been rougher on her than on me. Probably because she used to be one of them. Treason seems to be the worst sin to them. They tortured her merciless, Haymitch, yet she never said anything. Never. She's strong, way stronger than she seems.

Haymitch only nodded, torn between horror and pride. She had resisted them; she had never given up on him. Yet, if only he had known earlier, she wouldn't have had to suffer this hell. It was all because of his selfishness, and he would never forgive himself.

-She kept screaming, Haymitch. I think I'll never forget the sound of her pain.

Her look grew vague, unfocused. She was staring at the wall behind Haymitch, lost in the memory.

-She kept calling for you, she continued. Every time they came onto her, she screamed your name until she passed out.

Haymitch closed his eyes; his breathing ragged. She had always believed in him, hoped he would come for her, and he had not. It was entirely his fault, just like it had been with Maysilee. He had always been too late.

-Listen, Haymitch, I won't say it twice. She needs you. Now more than ever. I don't care what you've done or how you feel, you have to be there for her now. You owe her that one.

-Of course I do. And I will.

-Good. Now, take her with you, and exit through the back door. Go right to Aurelius; he knows what I've done. Leave her to him; he has to take care of her physical injuries. But Haymitch, swear you'll be with her. Her mental wounds are up to you, you are the only one able to help her recover.

Haymitch nodded, carefully settling Effie back against him, like she belonged there, against his heart. Johanna looked at him for a moment, before talking one last time.

-I don't know if she'll ever wake up, but if she does, Haymitch, you have to know she probably will not be the one you remember. She'll be different. These… things, well, they change us. Forever."

Her eyes grew blank again, and Haymitch knew it was time for him to leave. As Johanna was sinking into her memories, he dropped a quick kiss onto her shaven head, and left the hospital, Effie close against him.

Just as Johanna had planned, Haymitch settled Effie at Doctor Aurelius' place, despite his desire to keep her to him only. He had always trust Aurelius, and he knew Effie would be safe with him. He would do his best to maintain her health, which was more than Haymitch could ever have done himself. She would be safe, and alive.

* * *

From the moment he had first left her to the care of Aurelius, Haymitch had understood he would visit Effie every day. And he did. He would never stay long, overwhelmed by guilt every time he looked at her, her pure, elegant face hardly visible under all the marks and scars he had somehow helped to create.

After a short while, Haymitch began to feel utterly useless. As Effie remained unconscious, he would just sit, and stare at her until he couldn't handle it anymore. So, he began to talk to her.

He knew just how stupid it sounded, him talking to barely more than a corpse, but somehow, it quickly became indispensable to him. There was the same pattern to each of his visits. Every evening, he would enter the room with a single flower for her, which he had picked up in the meadow. He would drop it in a vase, before sitting next to her, clasping her tiny, fragile hand into his, and then he would talk to her.

He told her about all sorts of meaningless things. His geese, the weather, the food, his family. It was the first time since his Games Haymitch had confessed to anyone, and it oddly felt purifying. He felt entirely connected to her, despite her state. The mere feeling of her hand in his brought him the comfort he, somehow, had always longed for.

One particular afternoon however, everything collapsed. He had been talking for quite some time, when suddenly, he felt her arm flinch. Her face grew hard, as if she was in pain. Then she began violently jerking in her bed, her convulsions intensifying every minute. He could see drops of sweat on her forehead, as well as hear her muffled whimpers, as she seemed to struggle with a terrifying nightmare.

Under different circumstances, Haymitch would have straddled her and pressed her shoulders against the bed, in order to reduce her spasm. But he feared that it would unconsciously remind her of the physical abuse she had been subjected to, and so, he decided for something else.

Slowly, he wrapped her trembling body into his arms, forcing her to sit up on the bed. Her eyes were still closed, but he could feel her slowly calming down, as he tenderly embraced her, his hand drawing soothing circles against the soft skin of her back.

He brought his face against her neck, softly kissing her shoulder, muttering reassuring words against her skin.

"It's over, sweetheart. You're safe, you're with me now. You're not alone anymore. I'm here, Effie. I'm here."

When she seemed to have drifted back into slumber, Haymitch carefully laid her back against the bed, gently tucking her in. And then, for the first time, Haymitch found himself unable to leave her bedside, for he felt like she needed him that night. Consequently, he decided to stay. He settled into the armchair next to her, and quickly fell asleep by her side.

When Haymitch woke up, he found himself staring right into Effie Trinket's deep, blue, and wide open eyes.

* * *

**A/N: **So, that's it! I guess it's about the same length than the first one, really. I'll try to upload Chapter III during the week, but I'm not sure I'll have internet after monday, so I don't really know. I'll do my best!  
Thank you all so much for reading, you are bloody wonderful.

Hugs from France,  
Wil.


	3. Chapter 3 : Stay For The Night

**A/N: **Hi everyone! I wanted to say I am actually amazed by the feedback this story is getting. I wholeheartedly thank every single one of you. You are made of stars. Also, I wanted to apologize for taking so long to publish chapter 3! I actually went on holidays for a while, so I couldn't post anything. And then I got a massive writer's-block. But now I'm back for good! I actually have all the remaining chapters planned in my head, so they should follow quite soon after. I think, between one update every two days, and every week. And overall, I think I'll write about three more chapters, and that'll be over! (But I have another project coming your way, hey.) Anyway, sorry for the delay, and I hope you enjoy it! Love, Wil~

* * *

**Chapter III.**

Haymitch's eyes widened in disbelief. Feeling his heart aching with a long-forgotten emotion, he clenched his fists in anticipation, his palms sweating. Eager to step closer to her, he attempted to rise from the armchair all at once. However, his legs felt limp, and the lack of alcohol in his body altogether made it impossible to stand so fast; he crashed ungracefully to the floor in a loud thump.

Cursing under his breath, he grabbed the edge of the bed and dragged himself back up. Careful not to touch the frail figure curled up in the bed, he sat slowly next to her, his gaze still focused on her. He detailed her face before finally settling on her eyes, and that's when he began to realize just how broken Effie was.

The spark that used to lighten the blue shade of her gaze had disappeared, replaced by a frightened, vacant expression. She didn't seem to have acknowledged his presence yet; she was like in a trance, lost in blurry memories which made her skin crawl. Without realizing it, he stretched his arm towards her, softly stroking her skin with his thumb, before intertwining his fingers with hers.

She jumped a little at the contact, and suddenly her gaze grew focused. Her eyebrows furrowed a little, eyes travelling along his face, as she attempted to recognize the familiar features hovering over her. He moved an inch closer to her, his intoxicating smell of cheap cologne and whiskey reaching her nostrils.

The smell seemed to trigger something within her, because all of the sudden her fingers jolted in his hand, clutching it firmly, and the damaged skin of her sticky lips quivered, as she struggled to emit a sound. She lifted the arm which wasn't clasping Haymitch's wrist, towards his face; his skin tingled when her fingertips finally touched his cheekbone.

Her eyes filled with fresh tears as she kept tracing intricate patterns along the stubble of his cheek. The gesture was soft, tender, careful, as if she was afraid he would vanish into thin air if she pressed too hard. Then, they both began to move as one, towards the other, slowly, tentatively. She seemed to doubt his very presence; he was afraid to hurt her more than she already was.

They embraced each other without a word, Effie burying her face in the crook of his neck, tracing a small pattern upon his skin with her lips, Haymitch pressed his cheek against the top of her head, where her hair had begun growing back, as soft as a newborn's. He could feel her tears slowly drenching the collar of his shirt, and he surprisingly felt his own eyes watering as well.

Gently, she tugged at his shirt, pulling him slightly away from her. He felt his lips stretching into a smile he couldn't suppress. He squeezed her hand for an instant; and, for the first time, she didn't look as scared. Behind the veil of misery, there were traces of her former self. Maybe, just maybe, she wasn't entirely lost.

"Effie... He muttered. He pressed his brow against hers, closing his eyes. He had so much to say to her, yet he could not find the right words. It had seemed so easy while she was still unconscious; now he longed for more. He had almost lost her once; he had to make something of the second chance that was given to him; given to them both.

-Effie, he repeated. I will deny it if you ever bring it up again, but damn, I missed you and your too tight corsets. He chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to her scarred forehead. Kidding, little dove. Yet, I did miss you. He paused for a second. So much.

He pressed his eyes shut to keep unexpected tears from falling. Words were threatening to pour off his throat, words he had kept within him for too long.

-I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Effie. So -fucking sorry. For everything I ever did which hurt you. I'm nothing but a worthless bastard, a murderer. You probably should kill me."

He clenched his fists, wiping the tears away from his face. He was pathetic. He was not worth anyone, even less her. When he opened his eyes again, he saw Effie, her cheeks damp with tears, looking up at him with the saddest, yet most tender eyes he had ever seen. He felt something odd stirring in his chest, and found himself drawn to her, unable to resist.

Suddenly, he heard Effie's heart monitor accelerate. It was barely noticeable at first, but as he drew closer to her, it kept on growing. The beeping seemed to get louder and louder, and Haymitch could soon hear the distinct clatter of footsteps on the corridor leading to her bedroom.

The moment was over as soon as Aurelius and three of his nurses burst into the room, talking too fast for Haymitch to understand, surrounding the woman in the bed. He tried to interfere, to understand what the matter was, but soon, he was being dragged out of the room. He began to shout, to punch the air, attempting to hit anything within his reach.

"Let go of me, you imbeciles! He roared, feeling his knuckles breaking the jaw bone of one of the men restraining him. She needs me!

-Mr. Abernathy, please! Her cardiac rhythm is too high, and in her state, she's nearing an infarct. Now please, get out of the room!

-She needs me! And I need to be with her! Now!"

Yet, despite all his strength and anger, Haymitch was ruthlessly dragged out of the room, and the door slammed behind him with a loud bang. He gave up, dropping unceremoniously onto the floor, burying his face in his hands.

"I need her..." He muttered to himself, pressing his palms to his eyeballs.

* * *

After a while, he felt a hand pressed against his shoulder, and raised his head to see Aurelius, looking at him with an air filled with both worry and compassion. He crouched besides Haymitch, talking slowly, calmly.

"Haymitch, listen. Effie is physically fine; she just needed to calm down for a while. You are authorized to come back inside as soon as you want.

Haymitch looked at him; he seemed to be struggling with his words, like he was hesitating to say something else.

-But, listen, Haymitch. There's something you should probably know. She... She doesn't talk, she can't. She's not physically damaged, but she's traumatized. I'm not saying she'll never be able to talk again, but for now, it's very unlikely.

Haymitch felt the words sinking into his brain. Effie could not talk any more. How could such a thing have happened? Effie's voice was undeniably a major part of her identity; she would never be the same again if she couldn't find it back. Suddenly, a thought crossed his mind.

-Yet, she talked.

Aurelius looked at him with confusion.

-Well, not really, but before you came, she attempted to say something. Twice.

-Haymitch, I know she's not anyone to you, but don't you think it could be-

-My imagination, is that it? Oh, Aurelius, please, don't give me that. I'm not insane yet, I know what happened. She wanted to talk, she tried to!

Aurelius stood silent for a while, sitting on the floor next to Haymitch. He seemed to be considering whether to believe or not the latter's words.

-Then you're her only chance, Abernathy, he suddenly said.

-What do you mean?

-If what you saw actually happened, then you're probably Trinket's last chance to get her voice back. You seem to be special, unique, to her. And obviously she is too, to you. If there's something she has to say, she won't talk to anyone but you. You seem to be the only one she still trusts a little.

Haymitch looked down at the floor, his dark hair falling in front of his eyes.

-Then she's wrong. I'm the one who caused this. She should hate me, I'm her torturer. It' entirely my fault.

-You know it's not. It's a war, Haymitch. I think she knew that. You did your best, you rescued her, kept her away from the Capitol; she'd be dead if it weren't for you.

-No. I didn't. That's what you did. I just hurt her. I made her cry, and I almost killed her half an hour ago. I'm not her savior, Aurelius. Quite the opposite.

-I only treated physical wounds for now, Haymitch. Mental ones are far deeper, and way more dangerous. And right now, you're the only she's decided to let in, the only one that close to her heart. So now, make most of it. It's your duty to her. Your chance to fix it.

His words echoed what Johanna had told him before; Haymitch knew they both were right. But he did not understand; he was nothing special to Effie, except a former colleague and sometimes tormentor. He owed her so much, and yet she was still seeking his presence, the comfort he would be unable to bring.

-Don't try to rationalize how she acts, Haymitch, Aurelius said, as if he had read the man's very thoughts. She's acting with her heart, according to the way she feels about you. Do you think your own behavior appears any more logical?

Haymitch raised his head to look at Aurelius, whose lips had stretch into a slightly mocking grin.

-Euphemia Trinket is known for having been nothing but a living nightmare to you, during all the Games you two shared. Yet, here you are, rescuing her, hiding her, nursing her, fighting harder to keep her alive than you've ever done for a tribute… You love that woman, Haymitch, whether you accept it or not.

Haymitch thought about protesting, the very idea was ridiculous. He couldn't love anyone, even less his former nemesis, Effie Trinket. And yet, here it was again, the odd feeling in his chest, hurting like nothing before, but somehow quite pleasant too. Could it be? Aurelius had risen from the floor, straightening his lab coat.

-And she does, too. She loves you. So now, go talk to her."

On that very sentence, Aurelius left silently, abandoning Haymitch, left to his spiraling thoughts regarding the woman in the bedroom next door. He decided to brush it off, for a moment at least. There were other priorities right now: The Rebellion, Effie's changing state. Hastily, he got back on his feet and entered the room. He needed to see her.

* * *

However, when Haymitch entered, he was startled with the sight of an empty bed, stained with blood drops. He felt cold sweat rolling along his forehead, as he stepped further inside the room. Following with his eyes a tiny trail of blood on the floor, he reached the door to the small bathroom which belonged to the room. Fearing for the worst, he pushed the handle silently.

Effie was standing up, facing a mirror, her arms stretched up on each side, tears drenching her silky skin. She was stark naked, except for a white pair of panties covering her most intimate regions. Her breasts were naked too, the scars carved upon them underlined by the paleness of her skin. She was running her fingers against the locket burn, the tips bloodied by the wounds that had snapped back open when she had gotten up.

Despite her stillness, she was terribly upset. Tears were rolling down her cheeks in an uninterrupted flow, and Haymitch had never seen such distress in her eyes. Then, he realized what she was holding in her right hand, and his blood turned cold as ice. It was his knife.

She had probably taken it from the pocket of his jacket, which laid, crumpled against the back of the armchair where he had forgotten it. She was gripping it firmly, but her hand trembled. She began to raise it towards her stomach, when her eyes met Haymitch's through the mirror. As this very moment, she talked.

"I'm broken, Haymitch." Her voice sounded insane, oscillating between high and low notes. It's over; look at me.

She stood silent for a second, looking right through his icy grey eyes.

-Goodbye, she simply added."

She whispered three words that Haymitch could not understand, but that she needed said, before pushing the tip of the blade inside her abdomen. Haymitch roared in despair. Instantly, he was by her side, snatching the weapon away from her, leaning her upon the floor, looking at her stained stomach. Hopefully, he had been quick enough; the blade had merely damaged the skin, the cut was not deep enough to represent any harm to her survival.

Effie was still shaken by sobs, when Haymitch answered with a simple word.

"Never", he said calmly, looking right at her.

It seemed that, at this moment, Effie snapped back into sanity. Her breathing slowed down a little, and the glimpse of madness in her eyes dimmed.

"Why? She answered, struggling to get off his grip. She rose up again, looking at her scarred and wounded body with disgust. Look at me. I don't even look like a human anymore. I've got the marks, the memories of everything they did to me. Every cut is here forever, every burn as well. They made me the whore I've always been, Haymitch, she said, pointing at the carved word within her chest. This, she continued, is here to remind me that's all I've ever been; and will ever be. And even inside, I'm broken, she added with a faint voice. I can never forget or forgive, Haymitch. Please, allow me to escape. It's the only way, and you and I both know I deserve it."

* * *

Haymitch stood silent. He knew that words would never be enough against her will. There was only one way to make her see: He began undoing the buttons of his shirt, one after the other. Effie watched him, entirely still, silent fascination mixed with growing fright. He tossed the shirt aside, moving on to the buckle of his pants. After stepping out of them, he straightened his back, and moved to face her. Just like her, he was close to being naked.

"Look at me, Effie, he said calmly. Look at these.

She nodded imperceptibly and raised her eyes to encompass his body. She gasped audibly, her hands flying to her mouth, her sobs increasing. His chest and legs were covered with scars and burns, similar to hers.

-Token from my Games, he said with an empty voice. They refused to stitch me properly, because of the stunt I pulled. My surgeons even added some; they weren't keen on me either.

Silently, she stretched her arm towards his chest, stroking the longest scar, which ran from his shoulder to his navel. She was still crying.

-See? You are right, Trinks. They won't go away, or fade. Never. These are our memories.

He took her chin between his fingers, forcing their eyes to meet, before going on.

-Yet, it's for the better. Trust me, sweetheart. It will take time, but you'll learn to accept them. You'll learn to look at them without crying. One day, you will be proud to have them. You will eventually grow to love them. Because these, he added, gesturing towards her scars, are also our trophies.

He ran a finger along the word carved in her chest, before softly kissing it.

-This shows your bravery, Effie. You went through the worst, yet you never gave up. This is the proof that they never owned you, and never will. You can be proud, love; you won. You overpowered the Capitol, and this is here to prove it. He kissed the burn mark one more time. You will never cease to amaze me, Effie Trinket, he added in a whisper against her skin."

Effie nodded, offering to Haymitch a small, yet genuine smile for the first time. Her cheeks were drenched; her eyes red, her scars covered in dried blood; however, Haymitch realized, she had never looked so beautiful before. They both stood immobile for a moment, before Haymitch eventually wrapped his arms around her.

She pressed herself against him as tightly as she could, clinging to him like he was the only person in the world that mattered. Maybe he actually was. He returned her embrace as passionately as her, stroking the scars of her back, kissing the damaged skin of her face –everywhere except on her mouth. Despite the intimacy of the gesture, and the lack of clothing between them, there was nothing sexual in their contact: Nothing except empathy, understanding, pain, and a deep tenderness.

Careful not to hurt her, Haymitch lifted her off the floor and carried her back to her bed. He saw the silent pleading in her eyes as he sat her on the bed, and realized he needed to stay with her, for his own sake, at least as much as she needed him to. Consequently, he settled besides her in the small bed, holding her so tightly against him that he could feel her heartbeat against his chest.

As she drifted into sleep, she cuddled even closer to him, lacing her hands behind his back, intertwining their legs. He pressed a lingering kiss to her shoulder, and when he eventually felt her regular breathe against his chest, he realized that, maybe he did love her.

* * *

**A/N**: So, that's all for now, I hope you enjoyed it! I really struggled with this chapter so please, don't be too harsh. Reviews are love, as they always are. Lots of hugs to all of you and thanks for reading!

Wil~


	4. Chapter 4 : Stay Close To Me

**A/N: **Hello everyone! First of all, I am ever so sorry for taking so long to update this story. I really am, especially those to whom I had promised to do so much, much quicker. However, I have far from given up on it!

I just went through a massive writer's-block, then I had to move back to Paris, after which my muse was shamefull stolen by Downton Abbey. [I'll actually publish stories about this show pretty soon, methinks.]

Anyway. If some of you are -hopefully- still interested in this story, here you go! I really hope you enjoy it... It's the longest chapter I ever wrote so far, so I hope it's not too filled with mistakes. Also, there are only two chapters left to this story, so brace yourselves. **  
**

I love you all so very much, thank you for all the appreciation you're giving me, it does mean a whole lot to me!  
And, as always, reviews are the loveliest thing.

Enjoy, Wil~

PS: This chapter is dedicated to the marvellous Mette (OpheliaDevaux), for always being so lovely to me. You are the greatest friend ever!

* * *

**Chapter 4.**

He was swimming. The liquid felt cold and thick against his naked skin, as he struggled to keep on moving, without any apparent direction. Suddenly, he caught the sight of another body floating towards his. As he attempted to approach it, he noticed blond braids spread by the water. Maysilee.

He continued swimming frantically, reaching to grab her wrist. She seemed limp, lifeless. Haymitch felt adrenaline rushing in his veins, as he was merely meters from her. However, as soon as their skin touched, her flesh seemed to turn into some thick mud, instantly melting in the dark water.

As Maysilee melted before his very eyes, Haymitch could not repress a shriek of horror, which caused him to swallow a mouthful of water; or so he thought. He coughed, swallowing the liquid with difficulty. However, it wasn't water. It was absinth.

As soon as the alcohol made contact with Haymitch's throat, the surroundings began to vanish, gradually being covered by a thick, smoky fog. Delighted to have found something able to numb the pain in his chest, he began swallowing as much liquor as he could, coughing back almost as much, lost in a state between exhilaration and sheer madness.

But suddenly, the transparent liquid began to darken, its taste growing metallic. Haymitch looked at his forearms, now stained with dark red spots. Blood. The entire sea was turning to blood, its flows growing, swirling, dragging him further and further away from the distant shore.

Just like Maysilee's corpse had done a few moments before, more and more bodies began to appear, surrounding him, trying to grab him, desperately whimpering for his help. Children. Former tributes. They were all barely alive, injured. One had his skull slashed in two, an ax buried between his two eyes.

Haymitch began to drown. Or maybe he was actually falling, endlessly. There was blood and darkness everywhere. His feet suddenly collided with the floor, and he found himself in an empty corridor. Without thinking, he began to run, towards the only source of light.

As he grew closer to the light, he noticed another small figure, curled up on the floor, shaken by sobs and screams of pain. As soon as her voice reached his ears, he recognized her. Effie. Cursing under his breath, he began to run even quicker. Maysilee had just died, he couldn't let the same happened to Effie. He couldn't lose the two women he had ever loved at once.

He was finally arriving close to her, when he noticed something he hadn't seen before, and his blood turned cold. Effie was attacked by a multitude of colorful mockingjays, shrieking indistinctively, tearing pieces of her flesh apart. What was left of her face was distorted by sheer pain,

When he knelt by her side, she was barely more than a corpse. He tried to twist the neck of the remaining birds, catching one in each of his hands. One had dark blue feathers, the other red as blood, with a black beak. Caesar and Seneca, Haymitch realized. The birds were citizens from the Capitol, mutts.

Haymitch threw the birds away, after crushing their skulls to pieces with his bare hands. Tears flowing from his eyes, he pulled Effie's corpse against his body. Her eyes had been ripped away, leaving only bloodied orbs. He kissed her mouth nonetheless, one last kiss full of love and despair.

When he raised his head, Haymitch was face to face with a gigantic albinos snake, stinking of blood and roses. The terrible creature darted his tongue out, threatening, before opening its mouth widely, revealing long, pale fangs, ready to attack.

Haymitch, still holding the lifeless body of Effie in his arms, raised his head to meet the snake's red eyes. And, all at once, it was clear. He was no longer facing an animal, but President Snow himself. Suddenly, the snake began to talk, in a low, breathless voice. "You never really escaped us, Abernathy", was the only thing it said, before jumping straight at Haymitch, burying its fangs deep within the man's throat.

* * *

Haymitch's eyes darted open, and he instantly sat up on the hospital bed, roughly biting his fist to keep himself from shouting. It wasn't real; none of this had been real. It had been a nightmare. Nothing more than another nightmare. Haymitch swallowed painfully. He was drenched in cold sweat, slightly feverish. His knuckles were white, still clasping the bed sheets, which he had torn in his terror.

He closed his eyes for a moment, before turning his head towards the woman lying next to him in the bed. He stood absolutely still for a moment, listening to her regular breathing, watching her chest rise and fall, almost imperceptibly. She was alive, she was safe. There were no traces of fresh blood on her body, nothing else than the older scars, still healing.

Unable to stop himself, he ran a hand along her soft cheek, her shoulder, her hip. She was there. He felt a wave of relief warming his whole body, as he leaned back onto the bed, gazing at the ceiling. It had seemed so real, so eerie. He thought he had lost her forever. He pressed the palm of his hands against his eyes, letting out a breath he didn't realize he was still holding. Would the nightmares ever stop haunting him?

Suddenly, Effie whimpered in her sleep, and Haymitch instantly slid his arms around her body, bringing her against his chest. She seemed to relax a little at his touch, so he pressed her even closer against him, until he could feel her warm breath slightly tickling his shoulder. He dropped his head against hers and closed his eyes, inhaling her sweet scent. She was alive.

* * *

During the following days, Haymitch and Effie both chose not to mention either the incident that had almost taken place, or the night they had spent together, side by side. However, it seemed that, from this day, the very core of their relationship had been fundamentally altered. Something different, something new was slowly blossoming between the two of them, something they both silently cherished more than anything.

Due to Haymitch's involvement in the Rebellion, they were only entitled a few hours together every day. He knew Effie also needed time to recover, yet he couldn't help but miss her whenever they were apart. He often wondered when she had grown so important to him, before realizing that it didn't matter much.

One day, as he was sat on the bed next to her, their hands clasped in silence, Haymitch pointed at the colorful flowers in the vase. "You kept them?" he asked with a smile. Suddenly, he realized it was the first time in days that he had broken the silence. They were usually quiet; Haymitch even wondered whether Effie was still afraid to talk.

He was worried that he might have made her uneasy; he knew how he used to feel when he was forced to socialize with the Capitol citizens. It would make him feel stripped bare, his intimacy violated. He looked at her; she was gazing at the flowers, her eyes wide opened, her expression switching between surprise and tenderness.

She turned her head to face him. "Were- Were them from you? Haymitch?" His smile widened when he heard her. It was unexpected, but it warmed his heart to hear her voice again. He remembered how it used to annoy him, when they were still forced to work together. However, now, it seemed like the most endearing sound he had ever heard.

He wanted to reply with a joke, but chose honesty over it. "From District Thirteen, actually. One by day since you were brought here." He looked at her, and noticed her cheeks were slightly rose. She was toying with her own fingers, avoiding his gaze, but unable to repress the smile that crept up on her face.

"Thank you, Haymitch. For the flowers and- for everything else." He noticed her voice was trembling a little in her throat, so he squeezed her hand briefly. "Any day, little flower." Effie leaned her head against his shoulder, gazing at the ceiling. She smiled briefly at the new nickname, before opening her mouth, as if to speak.

She stood silent for a while, Haymitch gazing at her, her hand still clasped in his, afraid to say anything that might push her. She blinked rapidly, before talking in a timid, unsure voice. "Do you think I should tell someone?" He did not have to wonder what she meant for long. He looked at her, deep into her watery blue eyes. "I think it might help. You might think you've got everything buried deep within your chest, but it keeps coming back up. You don't want to end up like me."

Effie seemed to hesitate for a moment. "May… May I confide in _you_, if you don't mind?" She laughed faintly, blinking back a few tears. "You're the only one I still trust." His heart skipped a beat, while a new pang of guilt invaded his chest. Despite everything she had been put through because of him, she still trusted him. What had he ever done to deserve her?

He took her other hand in his free one, squeezing them both reassuringly, pressing his forehead against her, thus creating a bubble of intimacy around them. "Of course you may. I may not be the greatest help, but I want to try." She smiled briefly, looking very unsure of whether to continue or not. Haymitch could see how hidden emotions were already threatening to pour out of her. She could not back up now, she needed this.

"I know something which might help you." He suddenly said, as a seemingly mad idea crossed his mind. "For everything you'll tell me, I'll answer whatever you want to know about me."

"Haymitch…" She looked at him, freeing her hand off his, and raising it to gently stroke the stubble on his cheek. "You don't have to."

"I want to. I- I never thought the day would come I'd say such a thing, but I've had enough of keeping secrets myself. Now that they took my liquor away, I can never escape the nightmares. And every day, I wish I had someone to share my pain with."

Effie was silently crying now, her hands on Haymitch's lap, stroking it tenderly. He put his hands on hers, lowering his head so that their eyes would meet.

"And, for as long as I can recall…" He was talking so low now, that Effie could barely make out his words. "… I wished that person would be you." She gasped, and Haymitch continued. "I talked to you each day, when you were still unconscious. I told you the most random things, but, somehow, it soothed me. Now I only wish I'll be able to bring you the same comfort you brought me, Euphemia."

The use of her entire name allowed Effie's emotions to finally pour out of her. She drew Haymitch to her in a tight embrace, her face nuzzled into his shoulder, as she half-sobbed, half-laughed. He began drawing circles along her back with his hand, pressing soft kisses to her shoulder.

"Aren't we an odd pair, you and I?" she said, smiling against his shirt, her fingers curling up against his chest.

"Same as always, Princess."' He said with a chuckle, before pulling her off him, only to press kisses against the soft skin of her eyelids, swallowing her fresh tears.

* * *

And so, they began talking. Haymitch told her about his Games, the slaughter of his family, his growing dependency to alcohol. He explained how he had gotten involved in the Rebellion for years, how Katniss had someday appeared as the perfect Mockingjay. One day, he broke down, grabbing Effie by the shoulders desperately, burying his face in her neck. He was crying, muttering incomprehensible apologies to her.

"I'm so fucking sorry, Eff'- I should have known better, but things were getting out of hand, and I didn't- I should have told you, I should have saved you- But I'm a selfish bastard and- I'm fucking sorry, Effie. I'll never forget myself for what I put you through- Fuck, you could have died, Eff', because of me!"

Effie suddenly pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him. "Shh. Enough of that. Haymitch, listen to me. You don't have to apologize. What happened to me was inevitable; there was nothing you could have done." She lowered his chin, forcing him to look at her, his eyes blurred by tears of anger, sorrow and frustration mixed.

"I knew about the Rebellion, Haymitch. I kept silent to protect you, but I knew the major outline. And I was part of it. Of course, I didn't have a major role, but still. It's the reason I've been captured, Haymitch. It's not anyone's fault but mine, especially not yours. And I was well aware of the risks, when I took part in."

She pressed a kiss to his cheekbone, muttering against his skin. "It's not your fault, Haymitch. It's never been." Haymitch looked at her, his eyes narrowing as he encompassed her revelation. He stood silent for a while, before gently tracing the outline of her cheek and jaw with his calloused thumb.

"You've always been so brave, Trinks. I only hope one day you'll eventually realize it."

* * *

As time went by, both Haymitch and Effie found themselves craving for each other's company. The little time they spent together had become the highlight of their days, and if none of them dared to name the exact nature of their relationship, they were both aware of the way it was slowly blossoming into something ever stronger.

However, one day, Haymitch never came. Effie had sat on her bed for hours, eagerly glancing at the door, her heart racing with every new noise in the corridor, only to understand as the sun went down, that he would not come. Unable to sleep, she was gazing at the ceiling, her skin crawling with terror as she tried to ignore the nagging voice in her head, telling her that he would never return.

As the hours went by, a sense of panic and extreme anguish began creeping through her veins, slowly overtaking her sanity. She couldn't close her eyes, for terrible, bloody images appeared in her mind's eye as soon as she did. Her whole body trembling, she suddenly got up, reaching for the lowest drawer of her chest, which contained her scarce personal belongings.

Her fingers finally closed around a thin, golden chain, which she pulled to herself in a swift movement. The Mockingjay locket, which had caused her so much pain, was the only token she had ever received from Haymitch, which is why, to her, it was the most precious object she had ever owned.

Lacing the chain between her fingers and knuckles, she pulled the locket against her lips, kissing it fervently, muttering praises against the metal. "Be safe. Please, Haymitch. Be safe. Stay alive. Stay alive." Her lullabies brought back distant, blurry memories, and she could almost _feel_ his body against hers if she closed her eyes. She only dared to fall asleep when her voice began sounding raw from her cries and prayers.

* * *

Three full days went by, and Effie still had no information about Haymitch's fate. Nobody was aware of her own presence at Aurelius' basement, so there was nothing she could do, but wait and hope for the best. Not for one second did she let go of the locket; it remained clasped in her hand, as if nothing terrible could happen as long as it was in contact with her bare skin.

As she lay awake in her bed for the third time already, she pressed her clenched fists to her mouth, and began praying, begging for Haymitch to be safe, to stay alive, even if he never came back to her. She realized she would gladly have given her life for him. Wiping the fresh tears on her cheeks, she wondered. Was this what love felt like?

Suddenly, the white door burst open in a metallic clatter, and Effie gasped, pulling the covers over herself, her fists clenched so hard she could see her knuckles turn white, and feel the locket's sharp edges burying themselves in the skin of her palms. As soon as her eyes accustomed themselves to the new light, she eyed the figure reaching for her, and felt her heart stop, as she recognized it. Haymitch.

"You're alive…" She muttered, faintly at first, as he urgently approached her, taking both her arms gently in his wrists, and pulling her closer to him. He pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead; his arms sliding behind her back, until she was pressed flush against him. "You're alive!" She repeated, louder this time, her tone mixed with incredulity, relief and sheer joy.

"It's over. It's all over, Effie. The Capitol surrendered an hour ago. The Rebels won. The war is over; we won."

It took mere seconds for the words to impact on Effie's mind, and she pulled Haymitch away slightly, allowing their eyes to meet for the first time since he had come back. "It's –over?"

"Over and done with, Princess. We've been fighting for the past few days, that's the reason why I was kept away… But we've done it, Eff. We won. We did it, you and I."

Effie stood silent, but she knew he could see the uninterrupted flow of tears on her cheeks. She looked at him: His dark curls were falling messily around his face, his skin was dirty, his shirt half-torn. But there was something new on his face. Something unexpected, something unfamiliar, something utterly beautiful.

Effie suddenly realized he was smiling. It was nothing like the quick smirk she had seen on rare occasions before, no. Haymitch was smiling wildly, at _her,_ his grey eyes watery but nonetheless sparkling like never before. At this very moment, Effie was stunned by just how beautiful he was.

She felt her breath hitch in her throat as she reached to brush a curl off his forehead. He kept looking at her, without even stopping to blink, and Effie felt her face flush, her heart pounding with an emotion she had never experienced with anyone but _him_.

"It's over." He said, gently cupping her cheeks with his calloused hands.

"It's over", she repeated, tears streaming down her face before falling on her lap. They were standing so close now, she could feel his warm breath on her skin.

"It's finally over." His last sentence had barely been more than a whisper. "And there's no one I would rather be with, right now."

At this very moment, Haymitch knew. He looked at her deep, blue eyes one more time before shutting his, and eventually closed the gap between them, brushing his lips against hers so softly, the touch almost seemed surreal.

Effie gasped, her eyes shutting close as she grabbed the lapels of his shirt, pressing her own lips firmly against his. They began moving as one, lost in utter delight, as waves of emotion came crashing over them, only causing them to tighten their desperate embrace.

Effie moaned helplessly, as his tongue overcame the barrier of her lips, meeting hers with such passion and tenderness, she could have melted on the spot. Her hands tangled themselves in his thick, soft hair, while his arms slid around her waist, pressing their bodies even closer.

The very touch of their skins sent a rush of molten electricity through their bodies, as their mouth fiercely crashed together one more time. Utterly lost in the sensation, Effie brought her hand to his cheek, gently stroking his stubble with her slender fingers. She could fresh tears dampening her cheeks; she chose to ignore them, for they were, for the first time in her life, tears of sheer happiness.

Haymitch began tracing intricate patterns along her back, his chest threatening to burst with the strength of his emotions. He was pouring his very heart into the kiss: Everything he wanted, everything he was, everything he believed in, he chose to offer to her, for, at that very moment at least, they belonged together, two bodies sharing one soul.

At this very moment, the bedroom door snapped open, and everything shattered.

* * *

President Alma Coin was standing in the doorframe, her face distorted by a mix of anger and disgust. Haymitch let go of Effie at once, jumping to his feet, and crossed the room in two large strides. He stood still, facing her, his fists clenched.

"What d'you want?"

"You ought to treat me with a little more respect, soldier Abernathy", she said through clenched teeth, her tone threatening. "Furthermore, I'm here to talk to Ms. Trinket."

"Who told you?" Haymitch growled, his eyes darkening.

"It doesn't matter. I knew you kept her here, and I let you, Abernathy. I let you spoil yourself with that Capitol scum, so the least you can do now, is let me do my _job_."

Haymitch was clenching his fists so hard, he was sure his nails were drawing blood from his palms. He had not to react to Coin's deliberate provocations, for Effie's sake. For her safety. Despite himself, he moved out of the way, allowing Coin to reach Effie's bed, glaring at her with as much scorn as she could muster.

Effie had only pulled the sheets back up to cover her frail body, too stunned to react in any other way. She looked at Coin with fearful eyes, and Haymitch could, despite the sheets, distinguish how her whole body had begun shaking with anxiety.

"Ms. Trinket, as you are probably aware by now, your precious Capitol has surrendered to us a few hours ago." Coin had talked with an icy, emotionless tone. Effie only nodded.

"Consequently, Katniss Everdeen will, by tomorrow, proceed to President Snow's assassination." She paused, waiting for her words to sink in. Haymitch felt his skin crawl at the thought of Katniss facing yet another challenge.

"The execution shall be broadcasted nationwide, in order for our people to grasp the intensity of the message we're sending. Is that understood, Ms. Trinket?"

Effie bit her lip to stop herself from protesting. Surely, their precious Mockingjay had done enough by now. She was merely more than a young, broken girl, who had been shoved despite herself in a war she didn't belong in. Did that heartless woman really have to force her through a final ordeal?

"Now, Ms. Trinket. You are expected, for tomorrow only, to assume your former position as Katniss Everdeen's Escort. We need you to be a visual reminder of the Games, do you understand?" Effie didn't answer; her eyes only widened in shock, and Haymitch saw her face slowly crumbling as she encompassed the meaning of Coin's words. At this very moment, he was himself struggling not to shout. How could she, after all Effie had been through? How did she _dare_?

"After which", Coin continued, "You will be free to return to where you came from." Suddenly, she grabbed Effie's wrist with an iron grip, looking right through her eyes with a terrifying intensity. "And, believe me, Ms. Trinket, you actually should. Take this as an advice if you can: People around here are not too fond of former Capitol Citizens. Is that clear, my doll?"

Haymitch winced at the use of such a nickname, especially by Coin. He swallowed with difficulty, wanting nothing more than to embrace Effie's frail figure, to soothe her with kisses, to mutter against her skin that everything would be alright. He waited for Coin to finally exit the room. She didn't budge.

After a short moment, Coin talked again. "What are you waiting for? I need to lead you to Everdeen's former Prep Team. God knows you need a makeover, you look nothing like yourself."

"I want to talk to her!" Haymitch suddenly burst out, refusing to face Effie's departure, even if it was for a single day, without having shared at least a few comforting words with her. "She's not going anywhere before I talked to her!"

Coin narrowed her eyes at him, her icy glare piercing right through him.

"You have two minutes," she said, before exiting the room without a look at either of them.

* * *

"I- I can't", Effie eventually muttered. "I can't be that woman again." She looked at him, desperate. He was quick to prop himself against her, allowing her to press her face into the crook of his neck, circling her frail shoulders with his arms. "Never again, never!" Effie shook her head, on the verge of hysteria, before breaking into deep sobs and strangled cries which shook her whole body.

"I know, Trinks, I know. Believe me, if there was anything I could do to prevent this, I would." He kissed the top of her head repeatedly, trying to soothe her as well as he could. "But you can do it. And you will." Effie stood silent, so he pushed her away a little. "Look at me", he said, tilting her chin up so that their eyes would meet. "When I look at you, I see a beautiful, strong woman, who survived months of torture and abuse without even wincing. And if you could survive this, then you're entirely able to make it through tomorrow."

He pressed a sweet kiss to her forehead, before continuing. "I'm immensely proud of you, Effie Trinket. I can only hope you know it. You are the strongest, most fascinating woman I ever met, and I know you will make it. I trust you."

For the first time, Effie let on a half-hearted smile, before nodding faintly. He brushed her tears away with his thumbs, before handing her the locket that lay, forgotten amongst the sheets. She caught it quickly, pulling the chain around her neck and settling the medallion against her heart, as the reminder of Haymitch's presence by her side. Her eyes were focused, she had stopped crying. Haymitch thought he had never loved her more than at this very moment.

She arose from the bed, moving towards the door, when Haymitch suddenly grabbed her wrist, pulling her back to him.

"I want to promise you something, sweetheart. As soon as you get through this, we'll leave, you and I. We'll go somewhere special, somewhere hidden, just the two of us. Would you like that?"

For the first time since Coin had entered the room, Effie smiled, a genuine smile that lightened her whole face. "I would like that very much, Haymitch", she answered, before rising to her tiptoes, dropping one last, chaste kiss onto Haymitch's lips. The very touch of her soft, pliant lips against his caused both their faces to flush almost instantly, their blood heating up in their veins.

One of his hands urgently traveled amongst her soft, short curls, wanting to memorize everything about her before she left. Then Effie pulled away, her hand lingering for a brief instant against Haymitch's heart. He stroke the tip of her fingers with his, before letting go of her hand.

Effie was almost at the door when he called for her one last time.

"And, Effie?" She looked back at him, her eyes full with hurt and tenderness. "Stay alive, Princess."

She smiled softly, before turning her back to him, and walking out of the room without a glance behind.

* * *

**A/N**: Well, thank you so much for reading, and I apologize one more time for being so unforgivably slow.  
I love you all, and I hope you enjoyed it!

Hugs,  
Wil~


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